


Feather Dance

by taykash



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taykash/pseuds/taykash
Summary: Jun, son of an egg farmer, dreams of being an idol. Nino, subway musician, just wants to pay his rent. Then one by one, Ohno, Aiba, and Sho come in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2012.

His body glides effortlessly across the stage, muscle memory propelling him through the choreography as though it were improvised. He can feel himself sparkle in the dozens of lights trained on him, glinting off the thousands of rhinestones studding his jacket until he is a moving column of light. The chains on his pants jangle together as he moves, but the sound is masked by the blaring music. He is performing in front of thousands upon thousands, and every moment has to be perfect.

“I want to love you, pretty young thing,” he sings as he twists his body around and around, heel toe heel toe, and he flings an arm up. His hand closes tightly inward and suddenly, a squawk reverberates around the stadium.

Jun quickly brings his hand to his chest, making soothing noises at the chick in his hand. He continues to hum Michael Jackson as he works at his family's egg factory, putting the chick back in its cage and crossing the room to sort egg cartons. The work is hard – caring for the hens, sorting eggs, keeping track of the labyrinth of paperwork - and the four-person Matsumoto family does it all, hiring workers only when absolutely necessary. As the eldest (the only) son, Jun is expected to take over the factory when his father retires, and so he is frequently the last one in the factory.

It's a good thing he's alone tonight. The last time he got caught pretending to be an idol, his father had slapped him upside the head and his sister had laughed so hard she cried.

He finishes his work late that night, later than he expected. The house is dark and quiet by the time he trudges up the stairs to his room. Every part of his body hurts, his muscles screaming. He is asleep the moment his head touches the pillow, but his sleep is restless, his mind aware he’ll be up again at 4:30. Jun hasn’t been able to pay back his sleep debt since he was twelve years old.

In the morning, three hours after work has begun, he is visited by his friend Nino.

Nino works almost as hard as Jun does, his guitar strapped to his back as he trudges to his normal spot outside Ikebukuro Station. In many ways, Nino's work is harder than Jun's; Jun is always warm, indoors, with a fully stocked kitchen just up the stairs. Nino is outside almost every day of the year regardless of temperature; he says he plays better when his fingers are numb against the guitar strings anyway.

When Nino is in so much financial trouble he can't pay his rent, he helps Jun out at the factory. They can't afford to keep him on permanently, but Nino doesn't want to work in a factory anyway.

Neither does Jun. Jun envies Nino for having the choice.

“Jun-chan,” Nino greets him, his grubby sneakers covered by his too-long jeans. “You need to give me a haircut this week.”

Jun looks at him critically, the tufts of hair waving hello all over Nino's head. “I shouldn't,” he disagrees, “Because maybe once people see your face they'll stop giving you money.” It is always too early in the morning for Nino.

“Charming as always, Jun-chan,” Nino grins, flicking a button on Jun's uniform. Jun frowns.

“Get to work,” he commands, turning away from Nino to face a clucking hen. Nino is his best friend (to be more accurate, Nino is his only friend), but this early in the morning it is Jun versus the world and Nino knows that.

“I'll be back later for that haircut,” Nino throws over his shoulder, “make me look like one of those popular idols, you know, give me side bangs or something. You're the expert, MJ.”

Jun tosses an empty egg carton at Nino's back as he confidently strides out of the factory, watching it bounce uselessly off of the battered guitar case. Jun knows Nino has trouble paying the bills and that he lives off of milk buns and twice-brewed tea, but still – Jun wishes he could live like Nino.

Jun knows that the blood in his veins reeks of fowl and he hates it even as he carries a basket of eggs from one part of the factory to another.

\-----

Nino is driven by a dream, music the life blood that makes his heart beat. He doesn't mind the struggle to survive, doesn’t mind counting every yen that drops into his guitar case by sound alone.

“At least it's summer,” Nino murmurs as he sets up in his usual spot a few feet away from the main entrance of Ikebukuro station, squinting up at the sky. It's clear for now, but Nino can smell summer rain gathering in the rays of sunlight.

He begins to tune his guitar, do-re-mi-fa-so in quick succession, when he notices crinkled eyes curiously turned his way. Nino smiles a little as he notices Aiba perch his briefcase on the barrier between sidewalk and road before rifling through it.

Aiba Masaki is Nino's biggest fan. Aiba likes to talk while Nino sets up, so Nino knows quite a bit about him: he's from Chiba, he loves mabo tofu and all animals except for kangaroos, he plays golf and performs experiments on the weekends. When Nino thinks of his friends, he counts Aiba among them, though he would never admit it.

“Can you play that song today?” Aiba asks him brightly, tossing an onigiri at Nino. Nino looks up at Aiba, his eyes wide with surprise as the onigiri lands neatly in one of his small hands. “The one about the lie on the nape of your neck.”

“That's different,” Nino responds, unwrapping the onigiri. “You normally want 'Niji.” For a little while, Nino had banned Aiba from requesting the song because there was only so much crooning Nino could do in a week's time.

“Yeah, well.” Aiba smiles down at his onigiri, but Nino notices some pain slip into his laugh lines, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out like paper. “Some days you need something other than rainbows, right?”

Nino blinks, his mouth full of seaweed and rice. He has never heard Aiba say anything less than optimistic, and it unsettles something inside of him. The rice slides stickily down his throat and he swallows to clear away the thought that Aiba’s life isn’t perfect.

“If you want,” Nino allows, picking stray grains of rice off his fingers. He pretends not to see Aiba grin gratefully at him.

Nino knows that Aiba leaves his apartment early specifically to see him play, a fact that neither of them have never acknowledged. Aiba brings Nino snacks and money, Nino plays a few songs and they exchange gold nuggets of conversation before Aiba rushes away to his job at a major toy corporation. Today, however, after the last few notes of “Gimmick Game” fade away into the footsteps of commuters, Aiba quietly asks, “Hey. Do you want to go drinking tonight?”

Nino meets Aiba's eyes, recognizes the usual hope sitting in place, sees a nameless emotion he's never seen on Aiba's face lurking behind it. Nino is a lightweight, drunk after three beers and passed out after five, but he strums a G chord and replies, “Only if you pay.”

Aiba grins, tosses a five hundred yen coin into the guitar case. “See you at seven,” he says cheerfully before whistling his way to work.

Nino rolls his eyes at the coin to stop himself from saying something stupid.

\---

Jun rarely gets a night away from the factory. When he does, he would prefer to go out to swanky bars with perfectly styled hair, surrounding himself with sweet-smelling women and half-dressed men. Nino would never spend the money, though, and it’s hard to assemble a posse when you’re wandering around Ginza or Roppongi alone. Jun is a sociable person with an easy laugh, but having an almost round-the-clock job kills most friendships he starts up.

He doesn't let it get to him. Jun knows what life he wants and it's not the one he's currently living.

The streets are screaming neon at him, tempting him with girls and liquor and half-hearted promises of sex and glamour. Jun wants this life, Jun _craves_ this life, but he also knows better than to spend his money on call girls and shots of tequila. Even on his night off, he acknowledges his responsibilities.

He spots a man on the corner and like a crack of lightning streaking through the clouds, Jun's responsibilities are forgotten.

“Hey,” Jun greets him, trying to drink up the man's appearance as though he were an oasis in the desert. The man is dark and sleepy-eyed and Jun likes the way his collarbone peeks through his open collar whenever he moves.

“Hi,” the man responds, smiling a little at Jun. “Want to get a drink?”

Jun is a sunken ship and he knows it as he follows the man into a host club.

Ohno Satoshi is dusted in glitter and he sparkles as he walks through the dim lighting of the club. It makes Jun want to grab Ohno and whirl him around, surrounded by lights and screaming fans. Instead he sits next to Ohno in an empty booth and orders them both dirty martinis, don't hold back on the olive juice, please.

Ohno isn't a very good host – he fumbles trying to start a conversation. Jun isn't helping, either; he's more interested in watching Ohno pull the leaves off of a strawberry from the fruit plate Jun ordered than in talking. Ohno's hands are neat, with nails cut long, and a simple silver bracelet hangs from his wrist. Jun plays with the ring on his own hand before looking up at Ohno's face.

“Another?” Ohno asks pleasantly, touching the skewered olive from his drink to his lip. Jun can’t tear his eyes away, and nods. The martini is salty and heavy on Jun’s tongue, the way he likes it. “If you want something else, you can order it,” Jun offers. He knows a true dirty martini isn’t to everyone’s taste, but the salt and the vodka take Jun to a different world away from dirty feathers and clanking machines.

Ohno shakes his head, flicking his nail against the glass once, twice. “I like it,” he says, “it reminds me of fish.”

“Fish?” Jun wasn’t expecting that.

“I like fishing,” Ohno says simply, and eats a cherry from the fruit plate. 

Jun blinks. “That’s not very host-like,” he teases. “Shouldn’t you be going to estheticians and department stores in Ginza on your day off?”

Ohno wrinkles his nose. “I hate that stuff. I’d rather be on a boat in Okinawa, catching tuna.” Jun can see it now – Ohno, skin bronzed and hair bleached, pulling in a net full of fish onto an ancient boat – for some reason, it fit. For some reason, Jun wants to be on that boat with him.

“You don't usually come to host clubs, right?” Ohno asks, licking cherry juice off his bottom lip. “You don't look like you do.”

“What do I look like I do, then?” Jun leans back on the couch, crossing his legs. He sees Ohno looking at his neck and tilts his head to one side, silently offering access. Jun is a master of seduction, self-taught and yet always successful. He knows what to move and when to move it to get someone into the nearest rental bed.

Ohno hums a little, glancing from the vein on Jun's neck up to his face. “You don't look like you need clubs,” he says decisively. “You look like a celebrity.”

Jun’s smile fades a little, his mind filled with glittery images of the stage, but he forces a laugh. “Appearances,” he says delicately, popping a blueberry into his mouth, “can be misleading, Mr. Fisherman.”

“That’s true,” Ohno grins, showing crooked bottom teeth, and the sight of them makes Jun take his hand. 

“Can I go home with you?” Jun asks, suddenly breathless. He can’t think of anything except Ohno now, warmth unfurling low in his belly as he feels Ohno’s fingers lock between his.

Ohno scratches the side of his nose. “I can escape in an hour, if you can wait that long.”

Jun waits.

\-----

Nino has decided he likes Aiba when drinks are involved. He doesn’t know how Aiba managed to convince him to go to a club rather than a bar, but Nino is tingling with the after-effects of a beer and a tequila shot and doesn’t mind the atmosphere. Aiba’s louder than Nino, and Nino is entranced by the speed that words are shooting out of Aiba’s mouth.

“I want to write a song about your mouth,” Nino says, wiping foam off his upper lip.

“—But then, right, when you hit the starch with a lot of force, right, Nino, it _becomes a solid_. Nino! It becomes a solid! Isn’t that fantastic? The harder you hit it the stronger it gets! – Oh, wait, what? Did you say something, Nino?” Aiba is beautiful in his energy, nearly vibrating with liquor and excitement. 

“More shots,” Nino says decisively, and tosses an empty edamame shell at Aiba. Aiba grins and orders a mess of shots, glasses filled to the brim with vivid red and green and purple and yellow and blue, and Nino doesn’t know what he’s drinking but he takes them one by one. His skin is numb from the alcohol and he knows he is getting physical, desiring touch to satisfy his liquor-induced oversensitivity.

His hands find Aiba’s and suddenly he is on the dance floor. Nino’s universe is alcohol and light and Aiba and Nino knows that he is going crazy.

Aiba is moving behind him, fingertips branding Nino’s hipbones through his jeans. Nino can’t hear the music over the giggling in his ear, but his body is pulsing with the bass. It feels like the song is using his heartbeat as a metronome.

When Aiba drinks his voice gets raspier, breathier, and Nino’s not sure if it’s his laughter or the alcohol that’s making him feel light-headed. Nino’s back is pressed into Aiba’s chest and Nino is sweating from Aiba’s hot breath on his neck. He presses his hips backwards into Aiba’s, forcing the taller man to change his rhythm, and he can feel Aiba’s smile on his shoulder.

Nino is drowning in a sea of people, but he’s determined not to go under. He turns in Aiba’s arms, sliding his hands under Aiba’s shirt to rest on his waist. Aiba shivers at Nino’s touch, tightening his own hands on Nino’s hips, and Nino spreads his fingers, feels the muscles twitch under Aiba’s skin. “Nino,” Aiba breathes, the name brushing over Nino’s forehead before he leans in and noses under Aiba’s ear.

Aiba tastes like sweat layered over musk, boyish and earthy, and Nino doesn’t realize that he’s running his tongue over Aiba’s neck until he hears Aiba failing to hold back groans. “Your place,” Nino says, not noticing the slur in his voice. Aiba doesn’t respond, just grabs Nino’s hand and stumbles towards the dimly lit exit.

Aiba’s apartment is in walking distance, but Nino doesn’t register the route. He’s too drunk, the streetlights blurring into one long streak of starlight in the darkness as he’s half carried by Aiba. Aiba lives five floors up, and Nino shamelessly grinds Aiba against the mirrored walls of the elevator, stopping only because the bell dings and Aiba shoves him out, his face flushed.

Inside, Aiba manages to get his own shoes off without falling, but Nino hits the floor laughing. 

“Nino, Nino, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Aiba hooks his hands under Nino’s arms and tries to drag him inside, but Nino turns over onto his knees and surges forward to kiss Aiba. Nino tangles his fingers in Aiba’s hair, tugging hard enough to hurt as he bites at Aiba’s lip. He’s never kissed Aiba before, doesn’t know what Aiba likes, but drunk Nino is rough no matter who he’s with. Aiba falls backwards onto the floor, hooking his leg around Nino’s and pulling him down with him. He claws at Nino’s back, grabbing hold of Nino’s shirt and pulling it up towards his shoulders, a low whine emitting from his throat. Nino pulls his own shirt off, sitting up to make it easier, but unexpectedly slides off of Aiba’s torso and onto the hard floor. As Aiba blinks, propping himself up on his elbows, Nino gracelessly throws up into his shirt.

“Nino!” Aiba struggles to his feet and thankfully, _thankfully_ they are not far from the bathroom.

Nino wakes up curled in a futon much softer than his own, but he only notices this after he registers that he feels like he wants to die. An unfamiliar clock reads in unfamiliar numbers _2:24 PM_ and he knows that he’s missed a day of work, but his throat feels like the Sahara and he can’t bring himself to care about the lost wages just yet. The room he’s in is blessedly dark, but he can glimpse sunlight fighting its way through the cracks between the thick curtains. He can hear canned TV laughter playing in the room next door and he slowly makes his way to standing.

He never wants to go to another club again.

“Why did you try to kill me last night?” Nino leans heavily on the door between living room and bedroom, his eyes narrowed more from his headache than from anger, and stares at Aiba. Aiba is stretched out on the couch, but he jumps up with a grin when he sees Nino.

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” Aiba laughs, and Nino just wants to murder him. “I was waiting for you to wake up. Here, just sit down, I’ll go get you soup. It’s my mom’s recipe for second-day drunk.” Aiba bustles into the kitchen, and Nino falls, face-forward, onto the couch with an unhappy moan. Last night is a blur, and the last thing he can remember is Aiba flitting away for more shots.

The couch is upholstered in dark leather and it sticks to Nino’s face. He reluctantly sits up when Aiba places a bowl of soup in front of him, the steam heaven on his cheeks but the smell hell on his stomach. “You’ll feel better, I promise,” Aiba chirps, and the only reason Nino doesn’t punch him is because he’s not sure if he can lift his arm that high yet.

It does taste good, the broth soothing his sandpapered throat, but Nino doesn’t want to admit it to Aiba. 

“What did we even do last night?” Nino’s voice is clipped, and he narrows his eyes when he realizes that Aiba’s expression has a touch of bashfulness to it.

“We went dancing.” Aiba’s voice is airy and he waves a hand in the air. “We just had too many shots. I should have realized you couldn’t handle that much liquor, you’re so skinny. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Nino sits back, made a little more human by the soup, and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Why did you even want to go out in the first place?” Nino doesn’t _go_ dancing, he doesn’t miss a day of work because that means he might be facing eviction _again_ , and he’s beginning to notice unexplained bruises on his hips and back. When Aiba looks down at the table shamefully, Nino frowns. It’s a bad time to realize that in reality, he barely knows Aiba.

“Sorry, Nino,” Aiba swipes a hand through his bangs, pushing them away from his face. He’s still smiling, a little, but there’s pain sagging the corners down. “It was a bad idea, huh? I just…I needed a friend.”

“The lie on the nape of your neck, huh,” Nino remembers softly, and his irritation melts away with a sigh. He doesn’t need to hear the story from Aiba; the empty spaces in the apartment make it clear. He can envision the items that used to sit there – a purse, a pair of heels, a toothbrush, a makeup compact.

“Next time you ‘need a friend,’” Nino warns, “We’re _not_ going clubbing.” Aiba grins wider than he has all morning, and squeezes an arm around Nino’s shoulders.

\-----

Ohno’s apartment is small and sparsely furnished. Jun waits until Ohno is asleep against him, a tan hand against his own pale hip, and then he twists a little in bed to look around the bedroom. It’s tidier than he had expected, with all the laundry piled neatly in a hamper and Ohno’s few pairs of shoes in a single row under the window. 

There is, however, a precarious pile of art supplies thrown in one corner and his desk is covered in paper and bits of canvas. There are sketches rendered in pencil and pen and charcoal pinned over the walls haphazardly. Jun wants to get up and touch the colors splashed onto the sheets, but Ohno is warm and the papers will be there tomorrow. It is safe to assume that Ohno spends his salary on art rather than on furniture or fancy clothing, and not for the first time that night, Jun wonders why Ohno is a host.

On a shelf opposite the bed is a row of clay figurines, and sitting at the end is more clay, a dull brown ball larger than Jun’s head. The figurines are all thick-lipped and heavy-lidded and Jun is intrigued by them. He imagines Ohno’s long fingers shaping the clay, scratching out the details and rolling lines between his palms that become noses, ears, eyebrows. He thinks of Ohno handing out drinks to customers wearing his hostess suit, clay still hidden beneath his fingernails. Jun wants to know how many customers that know about Ohno’s art, about the time and care imbedded into these little heads that few people will see.

Jun likes that Ohno. Jun likes _this_ Ohno, the sleeping Ohno lying pliant against him, his chest touching Jun’s side with every rise and fall. The mousse has since been sweated out of his hair and his hair is going every which way, some of it resting against his eyelids. Ohno doesn’t stir when Jun leans over and brushes the strands away.

Jun is no stranger to one-night-stands, but he has broken all of his rules with Ohno. He will go only to love hotels (Jun wonders if Ohno’s kitchen is stocked with supplies for breakfast); he never spends the full night (it is not quite yet morning, the grey sky tinged with a hesitant pink); he doesn’t become _attached_ (he looks at where he and Ohno are pressed skin to skin and wonders _next time, next time we’ll--_ ).

It isn’t a stage full of lights, but Jun thinks that maybe he can settle for a life like this instead.

It is easy to drift to sleep, in this warm cocoon of blankets where the only sound Jun can hear is his heartbeat, thudding just a moment behind Ohno’s. He curls inward a little, Ohno’s arm tightening around him, and Jun sleeps.

When he wakes up the sun is painting bright stripes against the art on the walls, making patches of colors stand out brilliantly from the rest. Ohno is already awake, sitting up with a sketchbook in hand. Jun watches him, watches the gliding motions the pencil takes across the paper that he can’t see, hoping that Ohno is too engrossed to realize he’s awake. Ohno looks more alive drawing than Jun had seen him look before, even during sex.

Jun wants to know what else it takes to make Ohno look like that.

It takes Ohno a few minutes to see Jun tracking his movements, but when he notices, he smiles a little. “I could see your ribs,” he says, more to the paper than to Jun, “And it reminded me of something.”

“My ribs?” Jun grins a little. “Was it a European runway model? Or some elegant animal like a gazelle, right?” His fingers find the outside of Ohno’s thigh and tap out a rhythm there.

Ohno shakes his head, tapping the top of his pencil against his chin. “No, nothing like that. Sort of...a xylophone?” Jun scowls and takes his fingers away.

He tucks his hand back under the pillow, watching Ohno. Jun doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to break the silence or Ohno’s concentration. Being able to lie there with no obligations was a luxury, and Ohno’s presence was a gift. Jun doesn’t want to ruin that – but then his phone begins to ring, insistently, from the other side of the room. Jun groans; it’s Nino’s ringtone. Ohno doesn’t seem to notice it, so Jun relaxes again when it stops.

It starts up again a minute later.

Jun huffs, irritated, and reluctantly rolls out of bed to get the phone. “What?” he picks up, hopping on his toes across the floor back to the bed. Ohno smiles absently when he feels Jun snuggle up to him again, Jun hooking a foot around Ohno’s ankle.

“Nino, I’ll talk to you later,” Jun says into the phone, closing his eyes in exasperation. “No. No, I’m not listening. Tell me later. Bye.” He snaps the phone shut, the voice on the line still mid-sentence.

“Boyfriend?” Ohno’s tone is mild, as if he were asking if Jun wanted breakfast. Jun shakes his head quickly enough that he groans; he is not hungover, but his body is tired from sex and alcohol. “God, no. No, just a friend. He can wait.” Ohno is warm against Jun, and Jun rotates his hips in tiny figure eights a few times. He had stepped over their clothes sometime on the way to and from his phone and decided that since they were already naked, one more round or two couldn’t hurt. 

Ohno absentmindedly rocks back a little bit, then looks up at the ceiling. “I think I have some left-over croissants for breakfast.”

Jun huffs again and stops moving. He’s not sure Ohno even noticed.

\-----

“Some friend you are, J,” Nino shoves the phone back into his pocket. Aiba’s apartment is chilled by the air conditioning and Nino is reluctantly wearing one of Aiba’s sweaters. He wouldn’t have air conditioner even if he could afford it; at home, Nino makes fans out of old newspaper he asks from his regulars.

Though it was nice, he admits, to sleep in a futon without sweating to death for once.

Aiba sets down barley tea in front of him and Nino hides his hands in the sleeves of his sweater before picking up the chilled glass. Nino isn’t stupid; he doesn’t remember, but he can tell something outside of his throwing up happened the night before. Aiba doesn’t like to meet his eyes anymore, and Nino knows that the bruises on his hips weren’t made by his own hands.

“So how far did we get?” Nino’s voice is casual and he shivers a little when ice in the glass touches his bottom lip.

Aiba chokes on the liquid in his mouth and is unable to speak as his eyes tear up with the effort to clear his clogged throat.

“Not far,” he admits after a deep breath in. “You kind of got sick when we were getting undressed, so nothing really.” Nino is watching the expressions flit across Aiba’s face; Nino doesn’t know when he learned how to do this, but Aiba is a children’s book of stories, engrossing but simple to understand. His every move reads embarrassed, but Nino can see the shame hiding behind the embarrassment, too.

“Could have been worse then,” Nino replies casually, drawing an N in the condensation on his glass. “I could have thrown up in bed.”

“That would’ve been really bad,” Aiba agrees, his eyes crinkling, “Because I only have one futon.”

“You should pay me for my lost day,” Nino dips a finger into his tea and flicks drops of liquid at Aiba. “Since it’s your fault I drank so much.” Nino wonders for a moment if that makes him a prostitute, and then decides that no, it just makes him smart.

Aiba purses his lips off to the side, thinking. “Only if you sing for me,” he says brightly, throwing an arm over Nino’s shoulders. “Then we’re even!”

“How does that make us even?” Nino’s voice is exasperated, but he’s secretly pleased at the extra warmth. “You got me drunk and then tried to take advantage of me and I missed a day of work. You _owe_ me, Masaki.”

Aiba throws his other arm around Nino and squeezed him tightly to his chest. Nino can’t see Aiba’s face but he can feel the smile against his forehead. “You’ve never called me Masaki before!” Nino squirms out of Aiba’s grip, suddenly suffocated by the warmth in Aiba’s voice and the hope in his arms.

“Keep it up and I’m not going to call you anything at all,” Nino snaps, trying to hide how quickly his palms had begun to sweat at the look of affection on Aiba’s face.

\-----

Nino stops by Jun’s factory on his way home from work the next day, catching Jun singing under his breath as he spins around the factory. “And I wish that I could be with you tonight, you give me butterflies inside –” Nino is used to hearing Michael Jackson in the factory, but he bursts out laughing anyway when Jun starts jerking his shoulders around in an approximation of a dance.

“I’ve told you a hundred times to knock!” Jun snaps, pink rising into his cheeks when he realizes it’s Nino. He has a hen cradled in his arms and she squawks at the sudden movement. “Keep it up and I’ll just start locking the door.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Nino replies, a smirk still wide across his face, “Because you have a story to tell me.”

Jun puts the hen back in her cage, then turns to Nino with a raised eyebrow. “And how on earth would you know that?”

Nino shrugs one shoulder, fingering the strap of his guitar case. “You always sing that song after something good happens.”

Jun looks at Nino with wonder. They have been friends for years, ever since they met in a sandbox at nursery school. Jun had been smaller than Nino then, and Nino had helped him when he had dropped his prized eraser in the sandbox. They have been together so long that sometimes Jun forgets that Nino is observant, forgets that Nino knows Jun better than Jun knows himself. 

“I guess,” Jun graciously allows, glancing away from Nino’s knowing look. Nino pulls the guitar off and leans it against a wall, moving to stand next to Jun. He pokes a finger into a cage to stroke the feathers of one of the hens. “Did you go out this weekend?” Nino knows Jun went out; he just wants to see if Jun will volunteer information.

“It was fun,” Jun replies, his voice light, and Nino rolls his eyes at the hen. “Did you go to Colorful P&A again?” Nino knows Jun likes P&A every floor has an assigned color, and Jun always, always stays on the purple floor whenever he finds someone to spend the night with.

Jun clears his throat. “His place,” he murmurs almost too soft to be heard, but Nino hears. He stares at Jun, his eyebrows knitting together into a stitch of confusion.

Jun never spends the night.

Nino recovers, however, and stops bothering the hen to slap Jun on the back. “Well, that wasn’t very smart of you. Didn’t you have to clean the whole place before you did anything? That’s a mood-killer, Jun-pon.”

Jun’s mouth quirks in the corner, but Nino feels Jun’s spine relax under his hand. He traces a vertebra with his index finger, and remembers how he has secretly always been awed by Jun’s strength.

“My sister told me you weren’t at the train station yesterday,” Jun says casually, pushing Nino’s arm away. “Part-time job?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Nino agrees, though he can tell by the look on Jun’s face that he doesn’t believe him. Jun’s smile changes when he’s teasing or being mean; his jaw sets differently and his eyes turn up at the corners to match his mouth. Nino hates when Jun looks like that, because he knows it means he’s going to have to start speaking in circles around his friend.

“Didn’t you tell me you got invited to go drinking with that guy who always shows up?” Jun is _leering_ and Nino sort of wants to punch him in the face.

“Yeah, but it was boring,” Nino shrugs again, looking away from Jun, because Jun makes a noise in his throat that means ‘I win’.

“Maybe I can go with you next time,” Jun opens up a cage and takes out another hen, smiling as she coos.

“And maybe you can bring your new boyfriend with you,” Nino snipes, picking up his guitar case.

“Good, it will be a double date,” Jun replies with a straight face and Nino doesn’t bother replying before he slams the door behind him.

\-----

The next time Aiba comes to see Nino, he is not alone.

“Sakurai Sho-chan!” Aiba introduces proudly as the man bows in greeting. Sakurai Sho isn’t Aiba’s boss, but he is higher up the corporate ladder in the same company. His suit is made of fine silk and Nino thinks he could see his reflection in Sho’s shoes if he leaned over to check. Nino immediately hates him.

Nino doesn’t bother responding to the greeting; instead, he starts strumming his guitar quickly and loudly in a rousing rendition of a song written by someone else. He pretends not to notice Aiba’s face fall and how he and Sakurai inch backwards to watch.

Nino sings poisonous words without thinking, stung by Aiba’s bringing someone new, especially after the events of the weekend. He wonders if he imagined wrong, if the missing items weren’t purses and heels but rather wallets and cufflinks. He wonders if they’re back where they used to be and Aiba is trying to let him know subtly.

Nino strums so hard his guitar pick snaps and he curses, the song over. Aiba’s eyes are wide as he watches Nino pack up. “But it’s so early,” Aiba protests and Nino just packs up his things.

“I forgot I had something to do, anyway.” Nino shrugs his guitar onto his back and walks away without another word, Aiba’s gaze boring into his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sakurai put a hand on Aiba’s shoulder, and Nino picks up his pace.

“Can I work here today?” Jun’s father is the first person he sees when he opens the door to the factory, and he is glad. Jun would ask for an explanation, but his dad never does.

“We need someone to pack those full egg cartons into boxes,” Jun’s dad nods towards a corner of the factory. He is tall and would have been handsome if it weren’t for the stories of a lifetime of hardship and stress that were written into the wrinkles of his face; still, Jun looks like him. Nino likes the touch of silver at his temples. 

“Thank you,” Nino replies, meaning it from his heart, before he turns to pick up a uniform in the office.

\-----

“I’m sorry, Sho-chan, he’s never done that before,” Aiba keeps repeating as they walk towards the office. Sho has been counting and this is the sixth time Aiba has apologized.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Sho says with a laugh, sliding a hand into his pocket. “It’s not that big a deal. I’ll see him some other time. You said he’s there every day, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but…” Aiba is worried, his mouth turned downwards. Sho wonders why he never applies the same amount of feeling to his work, but he can’t bring himself to say that when Aiba looks so heartbroken.

“Really, I don’t mind,” Sho says again, bumping his shoulder into Aiba’s as reassurance. “I should get out of my office for lunch more often, anyway. Instant ramen and convenience stores bento get old pretty fast.” He grins, and when Aiba manages a smile, Sho’s smile gets a little wider.

Sho likes Aiba. They don’t work in the same department, but they entered the company at the same time and were trained in the basics together before Sho went off to Management and Aiba to Development. Sho doesn’t mind his job, but he is the first to admit that it would be dreary without Aiba periodically popping into his office to show him a new toy, or to share his lunch, or just to say hi.

Sho is fairly sure he likes Aiba more than Aiba likes him; he has his hands in his pockets to stop himself from taking Aiba’s hand. Sho wants to meet this Nino, though it is less about actually _meeting_ him and more about knowing who and what Aiba loves.

They get coffee, Sho's a deep dark espresso while Aiba decides on the advertised Orange Brulee Frappucino, the poster announcing NEW! in big, bright, yellow letters. Aiba gets cream on his nose when he tries it, making a noise of deep happiness, and Sho, flustered, burns his tongue with his own drink. They walk leisurely back to the office, Aiba having thrown his jacket over his arm and his tie already undone. It is cooler than usual for summer, but still pleasantly warm, and Sho wishes he were less responsible so he could take the rest of the day off.

"Maybe I should invite Nino to dinner," Aiba is saying, and Sho stops focusing on the sun on the back of Aiba's hand and pays attention to his voice instead, "And you can get to know him. I think you'd really like him, Sho-chan, he's really funny."

Sho smiles and touches the streak of sunlight wrapping around Aiba's wrist like a bracelet. "That sounds like fun, I think," he replies, and Sho can't calculate the percentage of honesty in his sentence. He knows that it's at least 50% and he supposes that should do for now.

But after he meets Nino, maybe he and Aiba could go to dinner together, alone.

\-----

Jun doesn't ask Nino why he's there. They work together in companionable silence among the clucking of hens and the chirping of chicks, music Jun is used to, and after work they sit in Jun's living room nursing beers. Nino has stripped to his tank top, a towel still tied around his head, and he is scratching at the peel of a mikan.

Jun reaches over to peel the mikan for him, but Nino snatches it away, cradling it close to his chest. "I don't want to _eat_ it," he says, as though Jun is the one being silly. Jun just rolls his eyes and picks up a mikan of his own.

"When are you going to see your boyfriend?" Nino asks, examining the slivers of orange peel shelved under his fingernails. Jun pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, sighs, and in his mind recites the chorus to "Billie Jean" to stop himself from punching Nino in the face. 

"You know he's not," Jun replies, his tone exasperated, but it has been a long day and Jun is beginning to think of soft sheets and feather pillows. "Anyway, he's a _host_. He probably sleeps with half his clients."

"How many of them does he take home?" Nino asks, flicking orange peel at Jun. Jun looks at the half eaten mikan in his hands, at the pith lying on the peel, sour and inedible but together.

Jun should go to bed.

"You want to find out?" Jun challenges, his eyes hot and his mouth in a firm line. Nino tilts his head, narrows his eyes. "Yeah, I do."

Jun should be going to bed, but he finds himself rummaging in his closet for a pair of jeans that will fit Nino. He hopes Ohno is working tonight.

\-----

Aiba waits for Nino to come back that afternoon after work, sits on the railing in front of the usual spot. He eats an ice cream cone, then drinks a smoothie, and finally slowly nibbles on a crepe, his hands covered in chocolate as he tries to protect his suit. When his stomach starts hurting from the sugar and the sun is going down, he gets up and goes home.

\----

Nino is uncomfortable in the host club, Jun's jacket a little too big on him and the gunk in his hair making his scalp itch. He wishes he had just gone home stinking of chicken and cardboard, but instead he smells like too-expensive cologne and Jun's dry-cleaning. He frowns down at his silk-sleeved arm, thinks of Sho in Aiba's home, in Aiba's bed, and squares his shoulders.

Nino doesn't subscribe to the "life is short, so we should live a little" philosophy, but he is an avid follower of "do what will spite the people you're mad at" lifestyle.

Jun tightens a hand on his arm and that is enough to know that Ohno is at work. Nino can't help but smile a little at Jun's nervousness. The last time Jun was nervous around a crush he was sixteen and worried about his teeth, his hair, and Nino had helped by throwing the two boys into a closet. The relationship didn't last (Hiroki had moved not long afterwards to Matsuyama, too far away for either of them to be able to lie about continuing long-distance) and Jun hadn't bothered nursing a real crush on anyone since.

Nino is honestly surprised when he sees Ohno. Jun's type is tall and fashionable, preferably with professional modeling jobs under their sleeves, and Ohno doesn't look like he even belongs in a city as big as Tokyo. Nino pokes Ohno in the side, Ohno immediately pokes him back, and Nino grins at Jun. Jun breathes out, his grip on Nino relaxing, then asks for three beers to thank Nino for his approval.

They don't stay too long; Jun has work tomorrow and Nino supposes he'll go back to his train station (maybe Sakurai has gotten hit by a car or something) but Jun flirts and Nino watches as Ohno's nose scrunches up as he laughs at Jun's jokes.

On the way home in the back of a taxi (Jun’s money, of course), Nino asks, "Did you get his phone number yet?"

Jun clenches his lips together, remaining silent, but Nino sees the reluctant upturn of the corner of his lips and he laughs. 

\-----

"I want to touch the love that stretches on without end," Nino sings the next morning, the song that he wrote for Jun the night after they secretly got drunk off of two of Jun's dad's beers. They had been thirteen. Jun had confessed his dream of being an idol, Nino had whispered his desire to be a musician out loud for the first time, and they woke up on Jun's carpet in a pile and with pounding headaches.

Jun doesn't know this song is for him, but Nino does, and that suits Nino just fine.

He can feel Aiba watching him, further than he usually is, but Nino doesn't look over. Anyway, Jun's song is fast and energetic and Nino doesn't want to make a mistake.

"That was good," he hears behind him, the familiar hoarseness a little muted, a little quiet.

"Thanks," Nino replies without looking back, strumming a chord, then another.

Nino listens to the sound of shuffling footsteps, then Aiba is crouched in front of Nino, running his finger on the soft yellow padding inside the guitar case.

"Is it new?" Aiba's expression is as bright as usual, but his shoulders are held up stiffly, his suit seeming ill-fit.

Nino narrows his eyes. "No, just one you've never heard before." G chord. D7.

"Oh. I thought maybe you were composing last night." Aiba tosses in a coin; 500 yen from the sound of it. Nino doesn't look at it.

"Went out with a friend," Nino replies. B minor. F sharp.

"Oh." Aiba bites his bottom lip, then reaches out to stop Nino from strumming another (A minor). "We should go eat something together, Nino."

Nino wants to say no. He wants to tell Aiba to go find his chipmunk friend if he's so hungry, to go find whatever lame CDs executives have littering the floor of their cars if he wants to hear music so much, but Nino's only response is a nod.

“Okay,” Aiba smiles finally, his jacket fitting better over his rounded shoulders now. It relaxes Nino a little. “During lunch?”

“No,” Nino plucks his high C string, “for dinner.”

\-----

Aiba takes him to a ramen place, which Nino approves of. Ramen is salty, hot, and cheap. He could have only done better with fast food hamburgers.

"So who's that Sakurai?" Nino asks between slurps, and is a little irritated that Aiba doesn't choke or sputter. He wants Aiba to be bashful, embarrassed, ashamed of his mistake – but he’s not. 

"Co-worker," Aiba licks broth off his lips and Nino looks down, pretending to chase a piece of pork in his bowl. "You'll really like him, you will," Aiba barrels on despite Nino’s huffed sigh of impatience. “I keep saying it but it’s because it’s true! And he really wants to meet you; I think it’ll be really fun for both of you.”

Nino puts his chopsticks down and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not quite angry, no, but the blood pounding in his ears is drowning out Aiba’s eagerness. He feels used. “Why are you so eager for me to meet this guy?” Nino’s voice is loud even to his own ears, and Aiba glances around the almost-empty restaurant to make sure no one is staring. “Is he your boyfriend or something?” Nino wants to sound casual when he asks that, but his vocal cords are straining with effort and he sighs internally at the thought of using another teabag when he gets home.

Aiba laughs, laughs so hard he tips his bowl over and suddenly their table is covered with noodles. Nino has to jump out of his seat to avoid getting splashed with broth.

Aiba giggles the entire time they clean up the mess, the waitress coming over with a handful of dish towels and high-pitched apologies.

“Sho-chan? I don’t think Sho-chan even realizes you can even _have_ boyfriends if you’re a guy,” he manages to breathe out between laughs. Nino feels warm, and he knows it’s not the soup.

“Bring him by tomorrow, then,” Nino says, then tosses a stray noodle at Aiba. Aiba leans over to steal Nino’s naruto from his bowl and smiles.

\-----

It’s not that Jun is shy or easily embarrassed. He’s not. But it’s his lunch break and he’s been staring at his phone in contemplation for at least ten minutes now. His onigiri is barely touched, sitting on the table. His phone reads:

E-MAIL  
To: OHNO SATOSHI  
Message: |

He doesn’t know what to say.

Jun has things he would _like_ to say: “your ass belongs in a museum” is one, “should I come over again to play?” is another. His list of “Things I Want to Tell Ohno” could fill the Encyclopedia Britannica, but he can’t bring himself to type any of it.

He wonders why this is so hard.

It is never this hard, not after Hiroki. Life with Hiroki was easy once they got over their teenaged nervousness and insecurities. Jun is very grateful for that part in his life; it gave him the confidence that he needed to live a double life of egg farmer and man about town. Without Hiroki, he’s pretty sure he would have never gotten laid.

And yet, here he is, staring at his phone as a love-sick teenager stares at his crush through the windows of his school. 

He leans backward in his seat, onigiri held loosely in his left hand. He scratches at the aluminum foil with a fingernail, pulling it down and pushing it aside.

Jun blinks down at the onigiri, then at his phone, and he is suddenly grinning so widely that he knows if his sister caught him, she would threaten to send him to a mental institution.

E-MAIL  
To: OHNO SATOSHI  
Message: Create anything today?

Fifteen minutes later, his phone beeps. There’s no text, no “Dear Jun” or “Love Satoshi,” but there’s a picture of a half-molded ball of clay sitting next to a jar of resin. In the corner he can see Ohno’s fingertips, dirty with clay and streaked with paint.

Jun sings to the chicks the rest of his shift.

Jun and Ohno begin to text regularly, but it's a conversation in pictures. Ohno sends photos of freshly caught fish, feathers sticking out of a desk drawer, two types of hair gel with a question mark. Jun replies with tamagoyaki, a pair of freshly shined shoes, and a picture of the gel he uses himself.

Jun doesn't know what any of it means, but what he does know is that the inexplicable pictures never fail to make him smile.

Jun visits Ohno at work two more times, and both times they spend the night at Ohno's apartment. Each time, Jun makes breakfast.

He wonders as they eat if Ohno can taste the insecurity in his eggs, the confusion in his rice. Jun believes in the power of feelings transferring to food, and Ohno makes him become a sailor's knot of uncertainty. 

He wants to know if Ohno can taste the attraction sprinkled in with the furikake, the infatuation steaming inside the tea.

Ohno just wrinkly-nosed smiles down at his plate, and says, "Delicious."

Jun doesn't know if he means the food or all of himself that has been poured into the food, but all he says in reply is, "Thanks."

They don't make plans to meet outside of Ohno's job, they don't talk of tomorrows or Saturdays or next weeks. Jun doesn't operate on spontaneity, on maybes and probablys, and Ohno's aloofness is paining him.

Ohno, Jun reminds himself daily, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration or thought or just frustration (he doesn't know), is a _host_. You have to be careful with hosts. They're paid to make you think they're interested.

But a shadow of a whisper in the back of Jun's mind floats to the forefront of his thoughts with a song that says, "How many customers does he let stay at his house?"

When his sister asks why he is playing "Dangerous" on repeat, instead of responding, Jun plugs in his headphones.

\-----

Nino has to concede that Sakurai is, most likely, not actually the devil.

He and Aiba are watching Nino play on their lunch break, Sakurai eating a messy homemade peanut butter sandwich while Aiba has a store-bought karaage bento. (He brought Nino an onigiri, as usual. Sometimes Nino wonders why he just hasn't jumped Aiba sober.)

It's hard not to like Sakurai. For all of his fancy suits and silk ties, he laughs open-mouthed and wholeheartedly at Nino's worst jokes, revealing oversized front teeth that Nino will never admit to finding endearing. He claps at the end of every song to the point that it's actually embarrassing and Nino has to tell him to stop. 

When they leave to go back to work, Nino finds himself missing them a little. 

Nino is in the middle of his next song when Aiba comes running back, fixing his tie. "Nino!" he calls before he gets there, and Nino tilts his head in answer. He keeps singing; he knows that Aiba knows he's listening.

"I'll meet you here tonight," Aiba whispers loudly in his ear, before running back in the direction he came.

Nino doesn't look like he's heard except for a slight narrowing of his eyes.

Aiba takes Nino out for hamburgers and Nino is beginning to wonder if Aiba is trying to seduce him with food. If he is, it's working.

Aiba has ketchup and mayonnaise all over his fingers and his posture is sheepish when Nino throws him a napkin.

"Why did you make me come here, anyway?" Nino asks before popping a french fry into his mouth. "I could be working. Or sleeping.”

"You wouldn't be sleeping, you'd be at the cyber cafe playing video games," Aiba shoots back, pointing a dripping finger at Nino. Sauce lands on the table in sickly orange droplets and Nino scoots his chair away.

"That is some important gaming I have to be doing," Nino replies seriously, wiping his mouth of hamburger debris. "So whatever you want to tell me has to be good."

"It is, I think," Aiba is using the remains of his bun to soak sauce up from his plate.

Nino watches him for a minute, watches him eat the bun then clean his messy fingers with a paper towel, before finally snapping with impatience. "What?" 

"We should date," Aiba says, still cleaning his hands.

"We should what." Nino doesn't know what to say. It's not like he hasn't dated before, but this is sudden and it's _Aiba_ and so unexpected Nino feels shaken.

"You didn't like Sho-chan because you thought we were dating, right? And I thought you could tell I liked you..." Aiba trails off, worrying his bottom lip nervously. "Did you not know?"

Nino doesn't reply. He watches Aiba grow more nervous as Nino's silence grows longer, and Aiba begins to talk again. "I mean, I thought you _knew_ , and then we went out, and you seemed okay with all of that, and then when you met Sho-chan you got mad and disappeared and then asked if he was my boyfriend and so I thought that meant that _you_ liked _me_ \-- "

"Okay," Nino says, cutting Aiba off. Aiba's eyes are huge, the corners of his mouth drooping downward. Nino wants to change his expression like the days of a rip-off calendar, one pull of his hand and everything is different, new.

"What?" Aiba doesn't know what Nino means.

"I said okay. We can date." Nino is glad for that drama class he took in high school; he manages to keep a straight face even as Aiba's smile sunrises. Nino wants a pair of sunglasses.

Aiba grabs Nino's hands, but Nino yelps and snatches them away. "You're sticky! Wash them first!"

Aiba leans over to hold Nino's sleeve, and when Nino lets him with a huff, Aiba laughs.

They go to Aiba's apartment that night and it is easy, Nino thinks, it _feels_ easy to be here. It is warmer than his own apartment, in temperature and quality of light, and it feels safe. 

They take it slow this time, curling up together on Aiba's couch under a blanket that Nino is planning on stealing. Nino likes this; they're not doing anything but watching stupid reality TV and casually drinking beer, but their legs are tangled together and they can feel each other's warmth. Aiba keeps throwing out random facts about the animals that keep popping up on the show they’re watching, and Nino responds with snarky comments, but he is learning things he would have never learned if he had stayed in his spot outside the train station. Things like _Aiba has a season pass to the zoo_ and _all his coffee mugs have cats on them_ , things listed in the Encyclopedia of Aiba. Nino wants to run his fingers down the spine of that book and memorize every word, chisel the sentences across his bedroom walls so he can wake up to them every morning.

Instead he presses his hands to Aiba's warm stomach, the muscles firmer than he expected underneath his fingers, and he kisses Aiba. It's easier to take in details now than when he was drunk; Aiba's lips are chapped and the roughness scratches Nino's lips, but he doesn't mind.

Nino has kissed a lot of people (including Jun, when they were fourteen and curious; they kissed once, broke apart, and grimaced – “it’s like kissing my sister,” Nino had said, and Jun had agreed before taking offense at the gender of sibling), but this kiss was ranking high on his list. Then Aiba laughs, the breathy sound released into Nino’s mouth, and Nino decides that this is the best kiss he’s ever had.

Aiba’s touches are gentle but firm and _everywhere_ and Nino feels like a crime scene with Aiba’s fingerprints covering every inch of his skin. They break apart long enough to pull off their shirts, almost in unison, then Aiba pulls Nino to straddle his lap. Nino doesn’t kiss him again; instead, he leans in and traces the shell of Aiba’s ear with his tongue. Aiba’s hips jerk up at the unexpected touch, rocking against Nino’s, and Nino grips Aiba’s shoulders, digging his fingernails into the tanned skin.

Aiba fumbles with the button on Nino’s pants, his hands caught between his and Nino’s abdomens. He manages to unfasten them and slides his hands down Nino’s back, pushing his jeans down. “I like your boxers,” Aiba giggles, and Nino bites his earlobe in response. Aiba moans and grips Nino’s hips tightly, over the yellowing bruises of the other night, and the pressure on pain makes Nino clench his thighs around Aiba’s hips.

They kiss again and again, and it is only when Nino notices that the low groans are coming out of his mouth, not Aiba’s, that he realizes that they are rocking together – but there isn’t enough _friction_ , they’re both still wearing pants and Nino feels like he’s going to explode. He pushes himself off of Aiba, kicking his pants off, and is grateful that Aiba had changed into sweatpants once they had gotten to the apartment, sweatpants that were now gracing the floor.

Nino slides back onto Aiba’s lap, and _oh,_ it is exactly what Nino needs. Aiba is panting Nino’s name, over and over, and Nino kisses him so he shuts up – but Aiba just repeats, _Nino Nino_ into Nino’s mouth and Nino feels lightheaded.

He doesn’t realize how sneaky Aiba is until he feels Aiba’s hands wrap around their cocks, pressing them together, surrounding him with warmth. They’re both leaking, Aiba’s talented hands spreading the liquid as they move up and down, up and down.

Aiba’s tongue is in his mouth and Aiba’s hands are around his cock and when they break their kiss, Nino sees that Aiba’s lips are huge and red and swollen and Nino comes undone.

When their breathing has returned to normal, Aiba takes Nino’s hand and inspects his fingernails. “I think you might have drawn blood, Nino.”

Nino runs his free hand over the welts he’s drawn over Aiba’s shoulders and doesn’t apologize.

\-----

The next time Jun and Nino meet, a little less than a week later, it's Marine Day and they decide to go to the park. There, Nino could still work under the nice shade of a leafy tree and Jun could get his tanning time in without having to hear Nino complain about sand and salt and wind.

Jun had texted Ohno a picture of the blooming lilies and the sign at the entrance to the park when they had arrived; Ohno still hasn't responded and Jun settles down on the grass with a sigh. Ohno had probably gone fishing. Most people took advantage of the day off to frolic in the ocean, and Ohno has been sending Jun pictures of freshly caught fish at least twice a week lately.

Nino is sitting not too far from Jun, still in jeans and socks even though he's sitting on one of Jun's blankets because he hates the feeling of grass on his skin. People are watching him from their respective spots in the park, listening to him sing about innocent love and cherry pies. Jun's eyes are closed underneath his large dark sunglasses, the grass tickling his arms and the backs of his shins.

Jun will never tell him, but he could listen to Nino sing all day. Nino's voice is a security blanket to Jun, warmth and safety dancing within in the notes, and he is drifting off to sleep when a soft voice next to him says, "It sounds delicious."

Jun jumps to a sitting position, startled at Ohno lying on the grass on his stomach, absently watching Nino. "When did you get here?" Jun's heart is racing, and if he's going to be truthful, it's only partially because of the surprise.

"A few minutes ago? Something like that. The sea is really crowded today." Ohno's nose wrinkles in distaste, but Jun is watching his fingers card through the grass. Ohno always keeps his nails long and blades of green snag on their sharp tips.

"I thought you had gone fishing," Jun leans back into the grass with a small sigh of happiness, the chain resting on his bare chest glittering in the light. He's just wearing a pair of dark bermuda shorts, having left the rest of his clothes on the blanket with Nino.

Jun wants this everyday: he wants Nino singing contentedly within earshot while he lies in the sun with Ohno by his side. He wants to be this warm all the time.

He feels Ohno's fingers on his chest and he glances down to see Ohno pick up the small pendant off of his skin. Ohno can't see his eyes, Jun knows; his sunglasses are too dark. Jun wonders if Ohno can feel his gaze, if Ohno knows that Jun wants him to start running his too-long nails up and down Jun's skin until Jun looks like a city map. Ohno doesn't, though, just plays with Jun's pendant (silver, in the shape of a ginkgo leaf), turning it between his fingertips.

"It gets so crowded on Marine Day the fish don't bother showing up," Ohno murmurs, poking the moles on Jun's chest one by one with the necklace. "It's like going to Tokyo Tower on Valentine's Day."

Jun tries to hide his smile at the image, but he knows he fails when he feels someone pinching his nose shut. He pushes upwards and away from the hands, but he doesn't have to look to know whose hands they were.

"Nino," Jun says, exasperation lacing his voice, but when he turns to look at Nino, Nino's not looking at him.

"Hi, Oh-chan," Nino says, poking Ohno's shoulder with a socked foot. Nino is going to get grass stains on those and Jun knows that Nino won't care.

"Hi, Nino-chan," Ohno squints upwards to try to see Nino's face, but Nino's head is blocking the sun and all Ohno can see is a dark outline.

"You should invite your boyfriend," Jun says, annoyed by Nino's sudden intrusion into his Ohno time.

"You're right, I should," Nino replies smugly, and goes back to the blanket where he picks up his ancient cell phone. Jun decides that he'll interrogate and kill Nino later.

Aiba isn't anything like what Jun was expecting. Aiba is loud and excitable and shows up with a bucket of fried chicken in one hand and a frisbee in the other. The thing that shocks Jun most, however, is that Aiba greets Nino with an arm slung around Nino's shoulders and a kiss on the cheek and Nino _doesn't mind_.

Which means that they actually are dating.

Before Jun and Ohno have officially named whatever this thing was.

Fuck.

\-----

Sho begins to stop by Nino’s usual place without Aiba. He doesn’t talk much and he doesn’t bring food like Aiba does, but he leans against the railing and watches Nino for two, three songs at a time.

Nino wonders if Sho knows about him and Aiba, if he’s been told that Nino’s all but stopped sleeping in his own cold apartment, if Sho has seen the asterisk next to Nino’s name in the Encyclopedia of Aiba.

Nino’s not sure why it’s bothering him that Sho might not know. There isn’t anything he can do about it; he’s not exactly Sho’s friend, just an acquaintance. But Sho is beginning to come every day, beginning to open up more.

Nino learns that Sho’s favorite color is red, that he has a secret passion for American rap, that he has stopped trying to cook ever since the firefighters threatened to stop coming to his apartment. Sho begins to bring Nino lunch on the days Aiba is too busy to leave the office, packaged meals from higher class restaurants.

Nino doesn’t have the heart to tell him he prefers fast food and conbini packaging, and accepts the plastic cases filled with eel and kobe beef with a smile.

“Where do you go when it rains?” Sho asks one day over gyuudon, and Nino wonders where the question comes from because there isn’t a single cloud in the sky.

“If it’s really bad, I work for the day at my friend’s family’s factory,” he responds easily, picking up beef with his chopsticks. Nino doesn’t miss the look of concern that passes over Sho’s face, but Nino doesn’t say anything about it. He knows Sho well enough at this point to know that he’ll bring it up himself.

“Why not get a job with us? Something flexible, maybe in the mail room or as an administrative assistant – ” Nino stops Sho short with a hand.

“Aiba’s already offered, multiple times. Thanks, but I’m not interested.” Nino starts eating faster, both to ignore Sho, who is making sounds of consternation, and also because he knows this conversation is going to make him lose his appetite.

“But I know you have trouble with your bills sometimes, and it can’t be comfortable sitting here every day, Nino,” Sho’s voice is soft but threaded with worry. “I can’t imagine what you do in the winter.”

“I survive,” Nino responds around a mouthful of rice, no trace of a smile on his face. “I do what I have to do, just like you.”

“But, Nino – ” 

Nino thrusts an empty bowl at Sho and picks up his guitar. “Thanks for the food.”

Sho’s face is red like his favorite tie when he takes his leave, and Nino hopes it’s from embarrassment.

\-----

Jun and Ohno have begun to meet outside of Ohno’s job.

Jun likes it better this way; Ohno is more relaxed when he’s not in a too-expensive suit with too-flashy jewelry, when he’s free to stuff his mouth with food as disgustingly as he wants, when he can be quiet and not get yelled at about it. Ohno the host, Jun decides, is a useless idiot. Ohno _Satoshi_ \-- well, Ohno Satoshi is a work of art.

He’s in Ohno’s apartment now, cooking pasta that he thinks Ohno will like. It will be colorful because Jun has picked only bright vegetables the color of the rainbow, and there are shrimp and clams and mussels waiting to be tossed into the pasta. A combination of earth and sea.

Jun thinks this pasta is a lot like him and Ohno that way.

Ohno isn’t watching him cook; he’s in the living room, covered in clay. Jun can smell the resin from the kitchen, and so he has the window open despite the oppressive Tokyo summer heat. He doesn’t mind the smell; it’s an Ohno smell, as integral to Ohno as turpentine and sea salt.

Jun wonders if Ohno has Jun smells, if Ohno thinks of Jun when he smells certain cologne or pasta or – and Jun’s stomach drops at the thought – livestock. Eggs.

Jun hasn’t told Ohno where he works. Jun doesn’t know what Ohno thinks about Jun’s life; he is pretty sure Ohno believes he’s another nameless model working back alley runways and in the back pages of catalogues. It’s not that he thinks Ohno would be ashamed. Jun’s family works hard, they do important work, but Jun…

Jun doesn’t ever want to be known as Matsumoto, the egg farmer.

He spills more olive oil than he means to into the pan, watches the garlic begin to sizzle and spread over the dark surface, and wonders what it’s like to swim without uncertainty.

As the vegetables sweat and the pasta boils, he leans a hip against the threshold between kitchen and living room and watches Ohno. Even though Ohno is facing his direction, Jun can tell Ohno doesn’t realize he’s watching; Ohno’s eyebrows are pulled together, his mouth a tight bow of concentration. He is surrounded by tools, pointy and flat, but Ohno is only using his hands right now.

He rolls clay between his palms, then shapes it with his fingertips, and Jun can see the nose taking shape. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get tired of watching Ohno create. Jun is good with details such as choosing which scarf goes with which coordination, what wall color would look best in an eastern-facing room, whether or not to use the volumizing or the smoothing hairspray today. But Ohno?

Ohno is good at recreating the world.

Jun turns back towards the kitchen when the smell of peppers hits him, a reminder to get back to work.

As he stirs the colors together, he wonders if Ohno will understand his pipe dream of being an idol. He hopes Ohno won’t laugh if he finds out.

Maybe it’s time for Jun to give up hoping.

Still, forever careful, he makes sure his humming of “Invincible” is inaudible to anyone but him.

\-----

"It is completely useless to lie on you if you insist on fidgeting so much," Nino complains, elbowing Aiba's belly from his place on Aiba's lap. "It's like riding a train conducted by a drunk guy."

Aiba laughs, curling his hands around Nino's far side and pulling him closer. "Sorry, sorry."

"This is what I get for dating someone who thinks kindergarteners are fashion icons," Nino covers his face with his old, cracked DS.

"Those kid's pants were cool and you agreed," Aiba is whining, but he is grinning and he dances his fingers gently on their resting places on Nino's flank. It makes Nino shiver, the touch lying between ticklish and sensual, but he doesn't complain.

It has been a few weeks since they started dating, and they've fallen into a comfortable routine. Nino still goes out to play, and Aiba still comes to watch, but the way their fingers linger when Nino takes the food Aiba offers is different, longer.

Nino's only concern is one he hadn't expected, and goes by the name of Sho.

Nino knows Sho and Aiba, both by necessity and by choice, spend a lot of time together. That's not what bothers Nino.

Nino wonders if Sho has told Aiba of their time on the train.

Aiba had had a meeting on the other side of the city and had asked them to meet him there for dinner, at this "really cool tiny curry place, Nino-chan, I think it's been here since before the war -- "

Sho had met Nino in front of the station and they went together.

They entered the train with a crush of people, forced into a corner next to a door. Sho was pressing Nino against the metal, the doorframe digging into Nino's skin next to his shoulder blade.

"Sorry," Sho had murmured, but Nino remembers wondering what Sho had been apologizing for. Sho's expensive dress shirt was sticking to Nino's t-shirt (blue, with a graphic of a jumping Yoshi), and Nino didn't know the name of Sho's cologne but knew it smelled expensive.

Nino wanted to write a symphony about Sho's jawline and that scared him.

They rode that way for fifteen minutes, the sweat on their chests mingling through the fabric of their shirts.

And then, before they reached their stop, Sho had leaned down and had kissed Nino.

It was totally different from an Aiba-kiss; where Aiba was playful, Sho was consistent. Kissing Aiba was give-and-take; Sho led the way and it was all Nino could do to follow. Just as Nino reached out and grabbed Sho's sleeve, the train doors slid open and Sho, without missing a beat, pushed them out of the car. Nino hadn't even noticed the train had stopped.

Neither of them had ever mentioned it again, but that night when Aiba kissed the large bruise on Nino's back, Nino cried out so loudly Aiba was startled.

\-----

Jun had been pulling out all the stops lately -- new jewelry, new extra-tight pants, new haircut. Ohno failed to notice any of it, but announced Jun's spicy salmon and spinach pasta the best thing he'd ever eaten. He'd also said the same of Jun's banana strawberry pancakes and of his chicken marsala, so Jun wasn't quite believing him anymore.

"You're lucky you're cute," Jun says to him one day over a quick meal of chahan and miso soup, and when Ohno smiles absently at him with a mouthful of rice, Jun can’t resist and leans across the table to kiss his puffed out cheek.

"Tomorrow I'll catch a bonito for you," Ohno promises, and Jun links their fingers together.

"Tomorrow I'll catch a bonito _with_ you," Jun corrects gently, and when Ohno breaks into a greasy smile, Jun kisses him anyway. 

Ohno’s boat is simple and small, but stocked with every essential one might ever need on the open sea. Jun watches as Ohno carefully prepares two fishing rods for their use. “You can use this lure,” Ohno lifts up a bundle of purple and blue feathers, then attaches it to the end of the line before handing the contraption to Jun.

Jun isn’t sure if he likes fishing, but he likes Ohno’s company. The act of fishing is relaxing, but it’s boring; they’ve been sitting together drinking beer for close to an hour and the only fish that they’ve pulled up had been thrown back for being too small.

“Do you have work tonight?” Jun asks casually, running a nail through the condensation of his beer can. Ohno hums noncommittally in reply.

Jun closes his eyes and leans back against his seat. He doesn’t realize that he’s dozed off until he awakes to Ohno yelling.

Ohno has one foot steadying himself against the wall of the boat, pulling backwards on the rod as hard as he can. Jun is fascinated by the line of Ohno’s strong body, the muscles rippling under his thin t-shirt on his arms and back, the way his stomach dips in as he tightens his core.

His right hand is working the reel furiously, and with a final yell he pulls in a giant, flailing fish.

“Holy shit,” is all Jun can say as Ohno picks up the desperate fish with a grin. “I promised you a bonito,” Ohno says, hugging the fish to his chest as its struggles begin to slow. 

Before Ohno, Jun would have never thought fish to be romantic, but once Ohno drops the dead fish into an ice bucket, Jun ignores the slime on Ohno’s chest and kisses him in gratitude.

\-----

One of Aiba’s traits, Nino learns, is that he drops important information very casually, easily enough that it is almost ignored. It isn’t because he isn’t honest; rather, words are simple to him. He knows what he has to say and just says it when he remembers.

So Nino shouldn’t have been so surprised over a dinner of conbini sushi when Aiba dips his toro roll into his soy sauce and says, “Sho-chan kissed me yesterday.”

Nino stares at Aiba chewing peacefully, his mind racing. He’s not mad; really, he has no right to be mad. So instead, Nino says, “Why?”

Aiba shrugs, swallows. “He wanted to, he said. He said he’s kissed you too.”

Aiba’s tone isn’t angry or jealous, but Nino can’t help the surge of panic that hits him in the throat. “I didn’t think it was a big deal or anything so I didn’t mention it to you,” Nino admits, poking his tamagoyaki with his chopsticks. He’s no longer hungry.

“Sho-chan explained, it’s okay,” Aiba is smiling, and Nino can’t understand why. “He said he surprised you. Speaking of…Nino-chan.” Aiba puts his chopsticks down, and the look in his eyes turn serious, though he’s still smiling.

Nino wishes this were a video game, he wants to press pause and go make tea to clear his head or better yet, start over from a previous save point. But Aiba keeps talking.

“Sho-chan, right? He likes you.” Nino’s not sure why Aiba’s telling him this. Aiba’s playing with his food, picking up salmon roe one by one with his chopsticks and stacking them. “He doesn’t want to tell you, though. He doesn’t think you like him.”

“Wait, but he _knows_ we’re together, doesn’t he?” Nino doesn’t know why his voice sounds a little desperate, his words rushed even to his own ears, but Aiba’s grin just widens.

“Of course he does! Sho-chan likes me too.” Aiba pauses.

Nino waits.

“Sho-chan likes us both, Nino-chan,” Aiba knocks over his stack of roe with the tip of a chopstick. “Sho-chan _wants_ us both.”

Nino meets Aiba’s eyes, and remembers how easy it is for him to know what Aiba is thinking, wonders why it took him so long to realize that there was an asterisk by Sho’s name, too.

Nino knows he put an asterisk by Sho’s name in his encyclopedia a while ago.

“Good,” Nino hears himself say, “I want you both too.”

Aiba surprises Nino by taking the time to go around the table to Nino’s seat to kiss him, his hands on Nino’s thighs as he leans in. 

Sho doesn't come to Nino's spot for a few days, but when he finally does on a sunny Wednesday, he is being dragged by Aiba. Nino can hear them coming a block away, and he can't stop his smile while he sings.

"Sho- _chan_ , come _on_ ," Aiba is repeating while Sho yelps about his shirt and how Aiba's popped off one of the buttons on the cuffs.

Nino can tell when they're standing near him, Aiba's breaths coming out in soft giggles. He waits until he finishes his song, then starts another just to hear Aiba's shocked noise of irritation.

It takes two more songs before Nino turns to Aiba and Sho, silently gesturing to his guitar case. Aiba doesn't bother even taking out his wallet, but Sho laughs and throws in a 1000 yen bill. "Nino! You know we're on our lunch break," Aiba whines, squatting down next to Nino.

"If you didn't have time you would've left three songs ago," Nino replies patiently, looking up at Sho. 

"We have a date tonight, Nino," Aiba fingers Nino's wrist, running his fingers over the bone. "The three of us. Okay?"

Nino glances to Aiba and back to Sho, and nods. "Okay."

Sho grins, and Nino wishes the date was now.

\-----

Jun feels a little guilty about the many days he's been taking off from work to see Ohno. His father hasn't said anything, but his sister has, and as much as he wishes he wasn't stuck there, it _is_ his duty.

He tries to make up for it by working twice as hard when he does go in, falling into bed so exhausted he forgets to text Ohno.

Jun's dad is a patient, understanding man and he doesn't begrudge Jun's now-frequent days off. Jun's sister is the one complaining when Jun is around, about unfilled orders and unsorted boxes, about responsibility and birthrights.

Jun takes about two hours of it before he slams down an empty box on a pile of boxes waiting to be filled. "Look, Mika, I get it. You're annoyed. The whole town can tell you're annoyed. I'm here now, so will you lay off?"

Jun and his sister could be twins, but when Mika gets angry, her face twists differently than Jun's does. Her eyebrows rise up and her nostrils flair; Jun's eyebrows furrow down and he holds his tension in his jaw. 

"You are making more work for the rest of us and _you're_ the one getting mad at me? I haven't been out of this factory in more than a month because I've been taking up all your slack!" Mika's voice is shrill now, thin with exhaustion and fury.

Jun knows it's true, that he's been a burden to his family, but he's not going to regret the time he's spent with Ohno for anything. "For once in my life I manage to find something that's just mine and I'm not letting you take that away from me," Jun isn't yelling, but he yelps a moment later when Mika slaps him straight across the face.

Jun can feel the perfect hand print stinging on his cheek and he roars in anger, kicking a box away. Suddenly, Jun finds himself being shoved away by a hand on his shoulder larger than Mika's.

Their dad is taller than both of them, built more solidly, and strong from years of playing baseball. "Both of you," he says tiredly, "just go."

"I have work to do," Mika protests, but their father just shakes his head. "I'll take care of it. We don't have much today. Go out and get some air."

Jun doesn't say a word but he rests a hand on his father's arm in gratitude before he goes upstairs to change.

\-----

The “date” is dinner at an okonomiyaki grill and even though the atmosphere is intimate, the three of them close together in a corner booth, the place is casual enough that Nino is relaxed. He manages to relax enough to drink more beer than he means to and ends up draped on Aiba, who is sitting next to him, but he is poking Sho’s knee with his foot under the table anyway.

"A tricycle," Aiba is saying as he rubs his chin in Nino's hair. "We're a tricycle now."

Nino wants to tell him that that is a really stupid thing to say, but Sho is laughing and Nino is entranced by the way his cheeks round and his eyes disappear. He rubs the heel of his foot against Sho's knee and wriggles his shoulders when Sho calmly rests a hand on his ankle.

"Tricycles technically have four wheels, I think, but we don't need the fourth, so we're _better_ than most tricycles," Aiba continues, and Nino wants to tell him that Aiba's not supposed to be the drunk one. "We balance just fine on our own."

Instead of hitting him like he wants to, Nino slides his arm around Aiba's waist and rotates his foot in Sho's hand. He's okay with being stretched like this, his drunk body swaying slightly beneath the table like a wooden bridge, the three of them connected through his tendons and muscles and bone.

Nino is glad that he's become the border of them, the line traced between Aiba and Sho that is both of theirs to share. He giggles a little at the thought while Sho draws shapes on his shin.

This time, when the three of them go home drunk, Nino leans on Sho while holding Aiba's hand, and the streetlights follow them like ghosts.

\-----

Jun misses Ohno.

Jun hasn't seen Ohno in over a week; his dad's back went out the day he broke up the fight between Jun and Mika, and it has forced Jun to face his responsibilities. He is back to being neck deep in eggs and chicken feathers when all he wants to do is to dance. He's given up on his dream of the stage, but he wants to dance anyway, in salt and paint and clay until his dancing has left footprints all over Ohno's apartment.

At night, he sits exhausted in their living room alone, the fan blowing hot air over his sweating body, and he aches too much to go up the stairs to his room. He wants to invite Ohno over but Jun knows he smells of work and instead of texting Ohno his address he sends him a sleeping emoticon with a carefully typed "good night".

When Ohno walks into the factory the next day, Jun doesn't know he's there, too focused on feeding the hens. It is early, so early even Nino hasn't ever come by at this hour, so when Ohno places a hand on Jun's shoulder, Jun drops the bag of feed and it skittles all over the floor.

"Sorry," Ohno kneels to pick up the bag, but Jun only hears the panic in his ears. 

"How'd you find me?" Jun's voice is weak, but Ohno doesn't seem to notice, scooping golden grains into the bag.

"Ah...Nino." Ohno cleans up most of the mess, then gently places the bag on top of a hen's cage. Jun isn't looking at him; Jun is looking at the floor, where the remaining grains are scattered like broken drops of sunshine.

"This is cool," Ohno murmurs, bending over a little to look directly into the cage of a hen. "Why didn't you tell me your dad owns a factory?"

Jun shrugs with one shoulder, loosening the towel around his neck and carefully rolling up his sleeves. Anything to avoid looking at Ohno, who is smiling vaguely at the birds. "It's not that important."

Ohno stands up to look at Jun, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth in a small pout. "Of course it's important. It's part of you, right?"

"I don't..." Jun sighs, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I guess."

Ohno looks at Jun as though he's waiting for something, but Jun stays silent. Moments tick by, punctuated by the whirring and clanking of machines.

Ohno takes Jun's hand. "Will you show me what you do?"

Jun wants to say no, it's disgusting work and Ohno will go to work stinking -- but Ohno laces their fingers together and Jun presses his lips together and nods yes.

The tour doesn’t take long; it isn’t even light out yet when they stop by the final machine and Jun takes a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice,” he admits, and it feels like his heart has sunk out of his body and is making its way to the earth’s core. “I’m an egg farmer by birth. Matsumoto the egg farmer.”

Ohno hums a little, lightly scratching the machine with his finger. “No, you’re Jun.”

When Jun doesn’t reply, Ohno tilts his head and Jun can see the remnants of last night’s hair gel, glitter still stuck between the strands. “I’m not Ohno the host, am I?”

Jun almost chokes in his hurry to say “Of course you’re not.”

“Then you’re not Matsumoto the egg farmer, either.” Ohno’s expression is very soft, tiredness lining his eyes but the gentleness in his lips is creating little fireworks within Jun. “You’re Jun.”

Jun squeezes Ohno’s hand, inches closer to tangle his other hand in Ohno’s shirt. “Satoshi…can we stop pretending and just be together?” Jun’s voice is a whisper, but he feels it ping off of the machines like an alarm.

But Ohno just looks confused. “We’re not?”

“We…never said anything…” Jun is stuttering, surprise taking over his anxiety.

“I gave you a bonito.” Ohno looks at the floor, frowning slightly. “Did you not understand?”

“Wait, that was – ” Jun doesn’t know when the conversation got away from him. 

“A love confession.”

Silence stretches on as Ohno’s expression twitches with concern but finally Jun laughs, the fireworks inside him increasing in size and color, and he kisses Ohno. “It was a lovely bonito,” Jun teases against Ohno’s lips, “And I love you too.”

Ohno responds by lazily dragging his tongue across Jun’s bottom lip, and Jun thinks that this is a nice alternative to just having Michael Jackson’s voice for companionship. If work started like this every day, maybe he wouldn’t mind it so much.

Reluctantly, he pushes Ohno away, aware that his sister might come downstairs at any moment. “Thanks for coming to visit.”

“I don’t have work tonight,” Ohno replies, “Maybe I can show you my impression of a chicken.”

Jun presses himself close to Ohno to tuck an egg into Ohno’s pocket and just says, “Please.”


End file.
